Continuation of "Right Place, Right Time" by Mary Calmes

The inn had appeared on The Travel Channel and we got a really nice write up in Sunset Magazine and Architectural Digest. We had a killer website that a friend of mine designed and maintained for me and the historical society was working on me to get the inn registered. Apparently between me keeping the original structure from the 1800s and the renovations that I had made, it was pretty. And it was pretty… and quaint and lovely and adorable and everything else you wanted to say but it was NOT in San Francisco and I could NOT go dancing until dawn and bring home a different stranger every night. I knew everybody and everybody knew me. I got crap if I didn’t go to the Winter Carnival or the Summer Jamboree or the Autumn Bourbon Festival or the Spring Cotillion. I needed to get out but I was trapped in hell where everyone liked me, stopped me on the street to say hello and knew my business.
What no one understood was that I was still young, I was only twenty-eight, and I still had clubbing to do and drinking and drugs and sex…lots and lots of sex. I needed to get laid. It had been nearly two months from the last guy I had picked up and gone home with. I was ready to make my pilgrimage back to the city now that my getaway had been foiled.
Stalking out of my office, I put up my hand as several members of my staff tried to talk to me on my way to the restaurant. When I made it to the archway that led out onto the patio, I heard the "yoo-hoo" that only an older southern belle can make. Mrs. Yolanda Barnes, the mayor’s wife, was waving at me. I moved fast and then stood over her table like the angel of death.
“Oh Fallon my love there you are,” she said, taking my hand, and patting it. “Ladies you all remember Mr. Fallon Stone.”
I got lots of smiles and several leering looks from the younger women. “You’re evil,” I assured her, squatting down beside my chair.
Her hand trailed through my hair, tucking a long piece behind my ear. “My goodness Fallon this is just like gold silk.”
“Quit….changing….the subject,” I said through gritted teeth. “I told you about the sale and you panicked. Did you think the new owners wouldn’t let the Garden Club meet here?”
Her eyes met my gaze and held it. “You listen to me, anyone but you has this inn and it’s no longer darling, it’s no longer dear, it’s a business and it has no place in this town. I will never let you out of here without a fight young man, do you understand me?”
I groaned and rolled my eyes. When I tried to stand up her hand tightened on my shoulder.
“Your inn fits Fallon. The Dark Horse is part of our community and whether you like it or not you’re stuck here.”
“I could just close it and leave.”
“Really,” she smiled evilly, “with what money would you leave?”
“I have savings you witch.”
She lifted her eyebrows, smiling at me. “All you need is a fella, I’ll find you one.”
Oh good God no.
She turned her head, tapping her cheek for me.
I leaned in and kissed her and her hand caressed my face, her fingers running along the line of my jaw.
“I adore you,” she simpered, smiling up at me as I rose over her.
“You’re impossible,” I said as I turned away.
“Oh look,” one of the women said from behind me, “the back is just as good as the front.”
“Yep, ya got a great ass,” Gwen told me as she caught up with me seconds later. “All of you is absolutely mouth-watering delicious.”
“Go away,” I told her. “I’ve gotta go sign paychecks.”
“That reminds me, Davis called and he said that he wants to see you tomorrow about setting up our 401K plans.”
I grunted as I turned down the hall. Unfortunately, she slipped in front of me so I almost knocked her down. “What,” I snapped at her, at the end of my rope after a very long, very disappointing day.
“You’re setting up 401K plans for us,” she started to well up, her face scrunching. “God Fallon how amazing are you?”
I reached out and grabbed her, yanking her into my arms and holding her tight. Instantly she wrapped herself around me. I was always surprised at how fast women could mold their bodies to mine and the deep purr of contentment that accompanied it. “Just because I’m trying to haul ass out of here does not mean that I don’t intend to take care of you guys. This is me.”
“I know,” she trembled, burying her face in my shoulder. “That’s why we want to keep you.”
I couldn’t win. I would drive to Louisville the following day to see my accountant and see if maybe he knew a lawyer I could talk to. I knew that Henry Freeman, the only lawyer in town, would not help me out at all with my land problem. His wife had been sitting at the table with the mayor’s wife. But Davis Cartwright might me be able to find me someone outside of the circle of hell who could look over all my paperwork and find the loophole I needed to sell my inn and the land it sat on. There had to be a way to get out.

Two


Obviously I was reaping some very serious karma for something I had done in my previous life.
“Thanks man,” the roommate said nervously, forcing a smile, “this is really decent of you.”
“I couldn’t just leave him there.”
The smile turned sheepish. “You could have but you didn’t because you’re obviously a nice guy. Most people wouldn’t have helped out a stranger.”
But I had no choice. I could not leave a man who was falling down drunk all alone. I had to help him home and dump him in his bed. It was the only thing to do.
Normally when I was attacked out at a dance club I got my hands on the other guy at the same time he got his on me but it had been an ambush more than a grope session. Standing at the bar earlier in the evening I had felt the hand sliding across my abdomen but had missed the fingers sliding through my hair until my head was yanked sharply back and a warm hand was flattened against my abdomen. In seconds the hand had slipped up under my t-shirt and was plastered to my stomach while the other hand was curled around my throat, lips pressed behind my ear, licking, nibbling, sucking and finally kissing. Down the side of my neck the lips trailed as the other hand slid over my belt buckle down to my groin, cupping my awakened cock through a layer or denim.
“Jesus you smell good,” the deep husky voice informed me. “I bet you taste good too.”
I chuckled. “My name’s Fallon,” I told the man having his way with me. “What’s yours?”
“Nope…can’t…gettin’ married,” he said, his hands tightening on me, his tongue sliding over the whorl of my earlobe. “I just wanted to see before that.”
Interesting. He was getting married, and I was guessing not to a man. And yet there he was in a gay bar on a Sunday night. His life was probably going to be all kinds of fun. The roaming hands brought my attention back to him. “You better run home my friend.”
He inhaled me. “I watched you all night long...ever since I came in...I never once stopped.” Gently he bumped my jaw with his forehead, giving me no choice but to tilt my head sideways. Well, no choice if I wanted him to stay close to me and really, even without benefit of seeing the man’s face, the strong hands clutching at me were nice. I didn’t want him to take his hands off me. When he licked up the side of my neck stopping behind my ear where his mouth settled and sucked. I had to anchor myself to the bar. Who kissed strangers like that?
“You smell like clothes dried in the sun.”
What was with the wistful quality in his voice and why did I care?
“Your skin…” He trailed off, nuzzling under the open collar of my dress shirt, his lips wet and hot on the side of my neck.
I was melting right there in his arms and since I had no hope of the interlude leading to anything else, I had to get away. When he swayed, I had my chance. “Are you okay?” I asked as I turned in his loosened grip to face him. Narrowed cobalt blue eyes zoned in and locked on my lips. He caught his breath.

From "Right Place, Right Time" © 2009 Mary Calmes (Stay Tuned for More!)

New Fiction from Mary Calmes "Right Place, Right Time"

Meet Fallon Stone:
One

I was in no mood to talk to anyone and yet I was aware that I was being watched. Looking toward the door after taking a sip of coffee, I saw my head chef, concierge, groundskeeper, and day manger. They were all clustered together looking in at me from the hall.
“I hate you all and I hate this town.”
My concierge, Gwen Brown, smiled wide and walked into my office carrying a peace offering, an apple fritter from the bakery in town. She had to have made a special trip for it. “Here you go Fal honey.”
I growled at her.
“Oh c’mon,” she reached out and gave me a playful jab in the arm, “it’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad?” I asked indignantly.
That was the cue for everyone else to surge into the room.
“Out!”
But no one was listening to me even though I could fire them all. It was my inn after all; I owned it if not the land it sat on. Therein was the problem with selling it. I could put the building up for sale, which I had, but the not the land itself. And who in their right mind wanted to buy just a building? The nice people from Shoden Hotels had made me a great offer, an amazing offer, an offer that would have returned me to my home in San Francisco with money to rebuild my life and I was so happy, I was so thrilled…and then the mayor had popped by to see me.
In a small town you knew the mayor, I knew the mayor, knew Trevor Barnes well as he had coffee in my dining room every morning. They had city council meetings outside on the patio every Wednesday. Everyone came on Wednesdays, it was pot pie day and Danielle, Dani, my head chef had made them into a work of art. Not that I cared. I didn’t care about anything but getting out of Wyndam, Kentucky and back to California. But after Trevor stopped by, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. I had still held onto a kernel of hope until twenty minutes ago when the nice lady from Shoden Hotels told me that they were not interested in purchasing the inn from me, no matter how charming and how much of a cash cow it was, unless I owned the land as well. Since I did not own the land, the deal was off the table. My staff was thrilled.
“Ohmygod I’m so happy,” my head chef Danielle Castillo broke down dabbing at her eyes with the tissue in her hand.
I scowled at her.
“Since you’re staying now,” Sutter Owens, my groundskeeper/gardener began, “do you want Honeysuckle or Gardenia or Freesia in the back corner by your cabana? You have to think of the smell in the summer.”
I flicked my eyes to his and he smiled but tried to hide it with a rough clearing of his throat.
“I’ll figure it out boss.”
“It’s kind of flattering that everyone around here wants you to stay so badly that they had a town meeting just to try and figure out how to get you to stick around.” Gwen said cheerfully.
I turned away from her to look out the window of my office. Two of the gardeners were walking by and when they saw me they both stopped and waved. I grunted and walked back to my desk, sitting down in front of my laptop.
“You want some more coffee?” Gwen offered hopefully.
“No.”
“You want me to make you crab cakes for lunch?” Dani smiled at me.
“No.”
“Here ya go boss,” Sutter said as he put an enormous vase full of yellow roses on my desk. “I know ya love yellow.”
My eyes flicked to him.
“What?”
“Boss,” there was more coughing.
I turned my gaze to Justin Webster, my concierge.
“Do you wanna see the folks from the Garden Club,” he pointed back over his shoulder, “because the mayor’s wife asked to see you if you would.”
I got up and crossed the room but before I left I spun around to face them. I pointed an accusing finger at each of them. “When I first got here two years ago you all hated me.”
“That was a long time ago Fallon honey,” Gwen soothed me.
“I’m still gay Gwen, since when don’t rednecks care about homos?”
“No one cares about that,” Sutter dismissed my question, “but I do resent the redneck slur.”
“You could have just left when you found out that your boyfriend backed out of the deal,” Justin coughed nervously, not used to addressing me without scurrying away. “But you stayed and made a go of the inn and all of us that Rob hired before you even showed up got to keep our jobs and take care of our families.”
“And we have great benefits,” Sutter chimed in.
“And you care about the town and the people in it,” Justin chorused.
“And you’re the greatest boss ever,” Dani assured me.
“And you are very, very easy on the eyes,” Gwen waggled her eyebrows at me.
I threw up my hands and turned to the door, slamming into my night manager, Pablo Vargas.
“Oh,” he smiled wide, hands on my shoulders, steadying me, “you okay boss?”
“Why are you here?” I snapped at him.
“It’s Tuesday,” he said like I was stupid, “the Spanish club from the college meets here for lunch at the Veranda.”
He rolled the r on Veranda making it sound like some fabulous landmark in southern Spain. I hoped my look conveyed my desire to kill him.
“What? Why am I getting the look?”
The Veranda was the name of our dining room. Danielle had insisted I name it so it was The Veranda at the Dark Horse Inn. She was very proud of her restaurant and even more so that she worked for me. Hell, they were all proud to work for me which was such a turnaround from when my presence in a room elicited either whispers or abrupt silence. Funny that me being gay had gone from being the only issue to a non-issue in the course of twenty-four months.
I had followed a man who said he loved me and wanted to make a life with me from San Francisco to Lexington Kentucky. Three months later he backed out of our joint venture of buying an inn in Wyndam and left me with a bill for his half as he spent his on a wedding and a down payment for a new house. He was now married and working in the family business. Being gay had been too much for him and so he had instead proposed to his college sweetheart and been taken back into the fold. It had all worked out for him but I was stuck with a place I hated having drained my savings to buy something I had thought was my future.
“Boss?”
I looked at Pablo.
“I have to be here to speak to the girls so they can practice their Spanish,” he smiled knowingly, arching a perfectly shaped brow for me.
He did not need to be there, he just liked bedazzling college coeds with his dark eyes and dark hair and mellifluous accent warmed voice that made their panties drop. The man oozed sex appeal and had he been gay, I would have had him a long time ago. As it was, the only gay men that I ever saw were either so deep in the closet that they needed a pit helmet, or just visiting…usually with their domestic partners. If I wanted to get laid I had to make the long three hour trip to Louisville from Wyndam which was a thirty minute drive from Lexington. It was picturesque, the scenery stunning, all lush green in the summer, many shades of mahogany, sepia and burnt umber in the autumn, and a white winter wonderland for Christmas. It was a postcard small town that rolled up the sidewalks at eight. Even the diner only stayed open until nine. I kept The Veranda open until ten and that was unheard of. The fact that I let it stay open until one or two in the morning for weddings made it thee place to have your nuptials. I got a plaque at a town meeting because of it.

Part I of "Right Place, Right Time" © 2009 by Mary Calmes (Stay tuned for more!)